


12 o'clock midnight

by Sentient_cHaos



Category: Original Work
Genre: AU, Character Death, Drama, Drama & Romance, Feelings, M/M, Murder, Oliver and his extreme hatred for marble floors, Prince and peasant, Romance, Slow Burn, royal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sentient_cHaos/pseuds/Sentient_cHaos
Summary: Oliver has one mission, and it's quite simple. In order to pay off his debt, he has to go into the palace and murder prince Archetel. However, this mission has more obstacles than expected... with a wide audience to observe, ungodly rules, and only 1 hour to plan for the murder being the hardest part. Yet there arises another obstacle that Oliver never accounted for...





	1. The arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! I'm back with another fic! However, this one is a little different... Firstly, as you may see, it has two chapters! And second, this is an original work! This is actually an AU of my and a friend's ocs! This one was heavily inspired by Cendrillon by シグナルP and orange! Leopold, Archetel, and Viviane belong to me, while Oliver belongs to my friend, Develyn! (@develyndraws on Instagram) Please do enjoy!
> 
> -Haos

As the carriage rhythmically hopped up and down, Oliver was left lost in his thoughts. He was wearing clothing which he absolutely despised; a tight-fitting shirt below a white suit, tied in place with a simple belt. The sleeves ended right above the wrist; however, the ruffles almost reached the tips of his fingers. His boots were nicely decorated, yet they were nowhere near fit for running; they were so slippery, Oliver had almost tripped twice while wearing them. And the worst part of the entire outfit; a simple holster tucked strategically beneath the last ruffle of his suit, housing a knife that fit snug against the fabric of the holster.

The man beside him wasn’t making things any better either. Every ten minutes that passed, he would ask Oliver if he remembered his mission clearly. The stupid mission that he promised to do in exchange to pay off his debt. “We’re reaching the castle. I’ll run it by you one last time,” the man began.

“Today is the ball of the kingdom. King Leopold wants to find a suitable husband to marry off his daughter, Viviane.” He stated aloud, skimming top of his notes.

“However, your goal isn’t Viviane. Your goal is to find the prince, Archetel. Many people suspect he’s a demon, and that has only been proven through his horrible acts; scaring citizens, killing them, and attacking the royal family itself.” He explained.

“The prince has red hair,” the man started once more before Oliver cut him off sharply.

“I know what he looks like, I’ve seen him a million times… Blood red hair, one red and one yellow eye…” he recounted to himself. “… no wonder people mistake him for a demon…”  he muttered.

“Don’t forget the scars on his face.” The man reminded. “Oh, yea, the scars… Where did those even come from…?!” Oliver questioned.

He’d heard a million rumors about the prince by now. He’s the devil’s child himself, kicked out from hell to torture more humans. Or he was the revived son of a necromancer, who despised his father for bringing him back, and, eternal rage writhing inside him, he commits evil deeds to calm his nerves. The story spun around in so many ways that Oliver wasn’t sure which version to believe anymore.

“Apparently, the prince attacked the princess, and the princess scarred him with a knife in self-defense. King Leopold was swift to hide this from the public though… Instead, he reported it as an accident.” The man finally explained.

“… So how am I sure that he won’t attack me?” Oliver asked, now having second thoughts about the job. The way it sounded to him, the princess did nothing for the prince to pounce on her. Who knew what the prince would do in a room full of guests?

“You’ll be fine… Just make sure the deed is done at 12:00’ sharp.” The man reassured. “Nobody’s gonna be able to find a trace of the body… as long as you don’t get any blood on you.” He added.

That was another impossible goal his small-time employer enforced on Oliver. He wasn’t supposed to leave any blood trail behind after he did it, while dressed in clothes not suitable for any sort of crime, and with an audience of about 200 people there. And the best part of it all, he had to figure this all out by himself. He had roughly 1 hour to do all of this, too. If by some god-sent miracle this went according to plan, he would be overjoyed.

The carriage continued hopping about. “Remember, give your invitation to the servants and don’t let anyone suspect why you’re here. You’re just another guest going to impress the princess.” The man cautioned. Oliver nodded, and, unexpectedly, the carriage came to a halt.

“… We’re there already…!?” he asked. He looked outside. There stood a giant castle, with white marble walls lining the towers, bright lanterns lighting the outside, and a wonderful garden, just beyond the fence surrounding the entrance stairs…

They were there. And Oliver lied.

He had no idea what the prince looked like. He’d just heard accounts of his appearance, and that was all. But that wasn’t what made him anxious. He would probably be able to find out who he was easily enough since he sounded so eccentric. What made him anxious that he wasn’t prepared one bit.

The carriage door opened, and he shakily reached a hand out to grab onto the frame of the door, to steady himself, before stepping down and out of the carriage. The cold air of night sent a chill down his spine as it hit his face and neck. The man who opened the carriage door handed him a letter. “We’ll be in there too, watching. Don’t worry.” He reassured.

That wasn’t reassurance, he thought. That was either a threat or a warning. Either way, the tone that was said terrified him. He’d learned, though. He’d learned not to let the strong façade leave, no matter the cost. That was all Oliver relied on to keep himself out of the water.

He draped the warm coat that was given to him over his shoulders and made his way to the stairs. His breath was almost visible, thanks to the chilliness of the night, yet somehow it was midway through spring.

He slowly ascended the steps, one by one, trying not to slip while walking. The shininess and cleanliness of the marble floor and the structure of the boot heel were not at all a great combination, let alone one Oliver was used to. After an ungodly number of stairs – a fact he despised when it came to castles – he finally reached the top of the staircase. There awaited guards and a servant.

“Welcome, sir.” He greeted Oliver. Oliver kept himself from physically cringing at being called such a title. “May I see your invitation?” the servant asked.

“Uhh- yeah.” Oliver stammered, forgetting for a split second about the invitation. His hands fiddled around with the invitation before he reached out and gave it to the servants. His hands were shaking unbelievably fast. It was either from the cold or from the nervousness. Probably mostly due to the latter. The servant took it, giving it a glance, before looking up and giving Oliver a sympathetic smile. He’d probably seen dozens like Oliver; small, young men, nervous to be meeting the royal family up close.

“Very well… Please do step inside.” He urged, opening the door for him. A gust of warm wind hit Oliver’s face, the difference in temperature making him shudder once more. The gust wasn’t it alone. There was a whiff of something. It was borderline disgusting. The amount of perfume the ladies of the ball wore, mixed with the food fragrances made it a disgusting and all the more nauseating smell. He reluctantly stepped inside, where another servant grabbed his coat and gently placed it on a coat holder.

Oliver further stepped inside, his body slowly becoming accustomed to the warmth of the interior. There was no music yet, but every guest was talking with each other.

It quickly became apparent that he was the shortest in the crowd, way shorter than some of the women there. The fact both scared him and comforted him. He was almost dizzy by the number of people that were there, and the fact that he had to commit homicide with the potential of one of them seeing, but it also gave him a sense of security, since he was easily lost in the crowd in a matter of seconds.

He had to get out of there, though.

He swiftly made his way to the edge of the crowd, just to get away from the masses. He found an escape, located next to the table of foods. He didn’t even think one second to observe his surroundings before resting his back on the wall and sighing.

“What are you doing here? Go talk with the others. The dance is gonna begin soon.” A deeper voice criticized. It came from next to him.

Oliver looked and his heart stopped for a good few seconds. Next to him was a tall figure, with very well-made clothes; golden trim lining the edge of the shirt, a handkerchief, a cape draped across his shoulders, and exquisite boots that ended right below his kneecap. The wellness of the clothes was the least capturing fact about him, however.

He had red hair, blood red hair. They were short and semi-well brushed, a tuft of hair on the left side of his face looking a little longer than the rest. He had bangs that almost covered his already imposing eyes. His left eye was bright yellow, while his right eye was a vibrant red, not nearly as dark as his hair. However, on his cheek, right below his left eye, lay three shallow scars that were obviously made with a sharp weapon.

He was standing next to the prince. And his heart was beating so loud he was certain other people could hear it.

Oliver struggled to get a cohesive sentence out. “Y-your Highness…” he stuttered. “Don’t call me that.” Archetel growled, obviously getting way angrier. “… Archetel is fine.” He instructed. “A-Ah… yeah… sure…” Oliver complied. “… How come you aren’t talking with any of the guests…?” Oliver asked.

“… I’m not the one being betrothed today.” He answered. “And I won’t be any time soon.” He added. It almost seemed like he knew what end awaited that night. He looked back at the crowd, yet his glare didn’t soften.

“… Do you like crowds…?” Oliver asked. He had no idea why he was talking to the prince, of all people. Something inside him, however, made him feel inclined to ask questions.

“… Take a guess.” Archetel barked. Oliver could now see why the prince was so unlikeable. He was completely antisocial. And, if what he heard was true, a violent one too. “… Why are you still here?” he asked in a commanding tone.

“I don’t like crowds either…” Oliver confessed. “I wanted to get out of that suffocating mass as fast as I could…” he explained. And when Oliver finished that sentence, it almost looked like something inside Archetel’s head clicked. He looked over at Oliver, with a stern look, yet one that hid behind it empathy and curiosity at the same time. That made Oliver’s heart bounce, again. He managed to soften up the prince. The small-town boy who couldn’t communicate with a lifeless mannequin managed to soften up an angry giant of high political status.

“… Then why did you come here...?” Archetel asked, looking over at Oliver. Oliver gulped quietly. This is where his unpreparedness began. “… Formalities….” He muttered. Archetel looked back to the crowd, satisfied with the answer he received. “… Do you know how to dance…?” Archetel asked him. Oliver nodded. He had some knowledge, that was certain… “What about you?” he asked back. Archetel nodded as well. “How so…?” he asked. “… Formalities.” Archetel replied, almost making Oliver smile with it.

It was scary how much of an effect his conversation with Archetel was having on him. He was slowly growing attached on Archetel. He let his hands brush against his hips, feeling the holster of the knife. That feeling brought him back to reality, making him realize what his job was in a span of seconds. He didn’t come here to make friends with the prince.

But soon, he was regretting his choice. The prince didn’t click with a lot of people, much like Oliver. But, through talking, Archetel wasn’t such a bad guy… He and Oliver had many similarities that Oliver could relate to, as scary as it seemed. And, so far, Archetel seemed to be less violent than anticipated. Granted, his scars gave that part of his nature away, yet strictly speaking, Archetel hadn’t done anything to make Oliver feel in danger. The only thing making Oliver scared were the rumors he’d heard.

Then, from the other side of the room, began playing obnoxiously loud music. The people started finding pairs and waltzing elaborately in the middle of the room. Archetel scowled and clicked his tongue next to him. “… That music is so loud and annoying…” he snarled.

“I agree…” Oliver muttered, looking down and closing his eyes in order to try and stop the incoming headache the loud violins would give him.

Archetel then spoke up again. “Do you wanna go somewhere with less noise…?” he recommended. Oliver looked up at him, now puzzled. At first, Archetel seemed to dislike him and – even though Oliver was starting to take a small liking to the prince – he still found it confusing that he’d now invite him somewhere isolated.

Then his brain started flooding with thoughts and potential outcomes. He could be taking Oliver somewhere isolated just to talk like they had before. Or he could be taking Oliver somewhere isolated, just so he could attack him.

 _I_ do _have a knife to protect myself…_ Oliver thought. Whatever the case may be, he was somewhat prepared.

“… Sure.” Oliver replied in a more monotonous way than he wanted. Archetel stood himself up and started walking towards the stairs. Oliver followed suit and shot a glance at the crowd. In the crowd, masked, were three people from his mission. One of them looked back at him and nodded. Oliver didn’t nod back.

He reckoned this was assurance and allowance to continue, but Oliver didn’t see it like that anymore. It wasn’t even threatening. He just didn’t want to think about it. Archetel was already three steps up when Oliver looked back at him. He had stopped to wait for him, and Oliver’s heart didn’t take well to the news.

Oliver took a small breath and headed up the stairs alongside Archetel. The steps were as horrible and atrocious as the entrance steps. Just a few centimeters further than planned and Oliver could be tumbling down any moment. “How can you handle these stairs so well…?!” Oliver asked in disbelief.

Archetel’s harsh tone softened when he replied. “…. I go up and down these stairs every day.” He remarked. Which was true, and also something Oliver didn’t think about. “I’m used to it by now.” He added. Oliver just looked down and continued heading up the stairs.

He took to analyzing his emotions. He was trying to find the source of this anxiety. What he found, however, only caused him to stress more. The anxiety he was feeling had a warm pulse to it, unlike the cold feeling of terror coursing through his body. He could feel the warmness on his face, the warm blood in his veins, and when he looked back up to Archetel, his eyes went unfocused and his heart skipped a beat. It had been years since he felt that sort of anxiety, and he couldn’t believe he was feeling it again.

 They were now on the 1st floor. Some guests were also there, making their presence less suspicious and innocuous. But Archetel didn’t stop there. He continued heading further in. Which was understandable, since the music wasn’t getting quieter any time soon.

He continued through wide and well-decorated hallways, before spotting a hall full of glass windows, one of which was open and led to a balcony. Archetel and Oliver went over, yet a servant that stood in the entrance stopped them. “Move.” Archetel barked. The servant almost lost his composure and went pale at the sight of his young Master, but he cleared his throat.

“I apologize, your highness, but no one can enter the balcony while the ball is taking place.” The servant clarified, still terrified from the sight before him.

“I said, move,” Archetel repeated firmly, starting to get dangerously close.

The servant gulped. “I-I have been stationed here, your highness, I cannot go elsewhere…” he tried explaining to Archetel, but by this time, he was having none of it.

Archetel clenched his fists tightly. He was indeed ready to attack the servant, but it looked like something was telling him not to, he was holding back. “I said, move. Go downstairs. You’re more needed there.” Archetel growled in a low, threatening manner.

The servant broke. He went pale and sweat almost started trickling down his forehead. He was so close to Archetel that merely looking at him was making him nervous. “… Y-Yes sir…” he complied with a shaky voice.

“And don’t tell anyone we’re here. If I catch even the slightest whisper of my name and this balcony in the ball, you are going to regret it.” Archetel threatened, before pushing the servant aside, who almost fell from the force. Before any other words could be exchanged, the servant scrambled off and back down the direction to the staircase.

Oliver was of course taken aback by this whole exchange. The Archetel he had spoken to just a few minutes ago was nowhere near as threatening and hostile as this version of him. Oliver couldn’t help but wonder what caused this. What made him different from the others? Why was he being more mellow to Oliver?

When Oliver stepped out to the balcony, the cold air hitting his face felt refreshing, compared to the heat he was feeling from the intensity of his heartbeats. The view of the rest of the castle, the front garden, everything was breath-taking. So many towers with potential rooms, so many buildings to be explored… yet on the tallest tower stood clock, brightly lit and clear from any distance.

The time read 11:45 in the evening.

He had 15 minutes to figure out how to kill the prince. And he had so many questions.


	2. Where the deed is done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As time flies by, Oliver finds himself more infatuated with the prince, and his mission suddenly becomes harder... Yet he has no more time left to waste.

Oliver looked around the balcony. It was quite spacious, with marble floor and a nicely sculpted marble fence. Archetel went over to the edge of the balcony and almost sat on the fence, lightly resting on it.

Oliver sheepishly went over. He gulped a little to himself, thanks to the constant reminder of the clock ticking from the corner of his eye. “… It’s much nicer now that we can’t hear the music as much, huh…” he mumbled.

Archetel nodded firmly, not even bothering to look at Oliver. “… Watch as they’ll open the doors soon and the music will still be audible up here…” he remarked.

Oliver nervously put his hands around his waist, his hand abruptly brushing against the holster again. He patted himself down from surprise, his hand molding into the shape of the holster. Archetel glanced at Oliver, trying to decipher what he was holding, to which Oliver responded by removing his hands from his hips. Archetel looked away with an unsatisfied, curious and suspicious glance.

_Shit…_ he thought. _Now he definitely noticed…_

“… So… you’re not interested in Viviane…” Archetel muttered. The way he spoke seemed to indicate that Archetel knew something that Oliver didn’t.

“…. Um…” he stuttered, as it was the only thing he could get out. “… I mean… She’s beautiful and all… and royal, too… but…” he continued.

“What’s your name,” Archetel ordered. Oliver froze. He didn’t even remember what name was on the invitation. Would Archetel notice if he gave a different name…?

 “…. O-Oliver…” he mumbled.

“… Oliver… do you want to dance?”

Oliver’s heart stopped. But the moment it started up again, it was beating twice as fast than normal. He felt his face grow so red that he thought he was going to have a nosebleed from the amount of blood being pumped in his face.

Of all the requests the prince could ask for, he was not anticipating dancing with him to be the one. He always thought the prince wasn’t interested in love; he was way too violent to be interested in anybody at all.

However, for all he knew, Archetel may have been testing him… To see why he wasn’t there for Viviane, and why he was so nervous. However, he didn’t have many choices left, if he were not to make the prince any more suspicious.

“…S-sure…” Oliver complied, stepping forward. Archetel stood up from the fence, facing Oliver.

He gently put his right hand on the left part of Oliver’s waist. Right above the holster. He definitely knew something was up. Oliver shakily rose his left hand up to put it on Archetel’s shoulder. He almost had to stand on his tip-toes in order to reach him, given the height difference. Archetel took hold of Oliver’s other hand. His hands were rougher than they looked…

Then he felt Archetel’s right hand slip a little further down, feeling the holster. Oliver went completely pale.

“… What’s this?” Archetel asked. Oliver didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond. He didn’t know how or what to respond with. There was no reason to bring weapons into the royal ball, and there was certainly no reason to hang out with someone who wasn’t the main spectacle of the night while being armed.

He had to tell Archetel the truth. But he knew it wasn’t the truth. He didn’t want to murder Archetel. When he took up the offer, he thought the job would’ve been way easier than this… With one firm rip, Archetel took out the knife from the holster. He studied it carefully, the material, the sharpness, the craftsmanship… he let nothing leave his observation.

“… This is very well made.” He barked, the roughness in his personality returning. It was clear that he didn’t like what he saw.

“I-I…. it’s not…” Oliver tried to explain, but the lump in his throat forbade it. He felt tears well up in his eyes. So many emotions were battling inside him, he was so frustrated about it. He didn’t want to cry, because he wasn’t as weak… yet he wasn’t nearly strong enough to kill Archetel. He was so anxious that he had been found out, he was expecting to pay with his life from either side; his employer, or the prince himself. But he wasn’t ready to die yet.

“… Are you an assassin?” Archetel asked. Oliver shook his head.

“I-I… d-don’t want to…” he quietly sobbed. Archetel looked down with a rather unexpected bitterness in his eyes like he was expecting something similar to happen soon enough. He handed the knife back to Oliver.

“… If you’re gonna do anything, just do it now…” Archetel requested, in a tone void of all authority he ever had while speaking. It was almost pitiful how saddened he sounded.

“… I-I can’t… w-why would I…” Oliver tried to finish. He was so confused why Archetel was allowing him to do such a thing. He never imagined he’d see a figure that was so feared by the public in such a pitiful state.

“… Nobody here likes me… Do you think I have anything to lose…?” He asked, the hopelessness not leaving his voice.

“Why though…?” Oliver inquired like he had no idea why nobody liked the prince. The prince had a record of terror. But this conversation struck a nerve inside Oliver, one that told him that there was a reason this was all done.

“… I came here against my will…” Archetel began. “… after a raid was ordered by King Leopold on my people… He took pity on me and took me back here, to be Viviane’s perfect little brother…” he growled lowly.

“I can’t forgive what he did, of course I can’t…” he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists tighter.

“But I can’t… I can’t kill him… no matter how much I want to… If I lay a finger on him, it’s over for me, that’s for sure…” he growled.

Oliver felt his face soften at the explanation Archetel gave. He never expected the prince not to be of royal upbringing… But this suddenly explained all the rumors that were started. Nobody knew about the King bringing in a stray child from a random raid, which certainly caused questions as to how he came to be. Archetel was just an ordinary person who was forced to do more than he wanted, more so after witnessing a killing spree… and Oliver could very much relate to that.

“… But if it’s by you, then… I don’t mind.” Archetel finished and looked at Oliver.

Oliver felt his hands begin to shake again. “W-Why… what makes me different… w-why do you have a problem if anyone else k-kills you…?!” he asked.

Archetel looked away once more. “… I don’t know… you just… have this energy about you… You don’t really want to do what you were assigned to…” Archetel guessed. “… your overall nervousness to do things gave it all away… and the fact that I didn’t recognize your name is another thing…” he explained.

Those words made Oliver realize how fortunate he was that he had to deal with Archetel instead of someone more guarded… Archetel had a very keen eye for a “royal” figure, which made Oliver’s acting even less concealable. Yet he still didn’t understand why Archetel wanted Oliver to kill him.

“Still… w-wh… w-what makes me different….” Oliver muttered.

“… I already told you I don’t know… But I think dying isn’t as bad if it’s by your side…” he said. Oliver’s heart ached worse at those words. He didn’t want to kill Archetel at all anymore. His heart hurt just by the thought of it.

“… I-I don’t know you….” He shakily sobbed. “… b-but I can’t even harm you… What’s wrong with me…?!” he asked.

“… You… don’t…?” Archetel asked in a confused manner. It was clear nobody else had shown that sort of affection towards him. He reluctantly stepped closer and opened his mouth to say something.

Then the bells started chiming.

It was 12 o’ clock.

“No… no no no… this… this can’t…” Oliver started mumbling frantically, more tears welling up in his eyes. His hands started shaking violently, before he dropped the knife on the ground, letting it make a clattering sound as it hit the floor. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t. Just as he was thinking this, he saw a small glint from the corner of his eye.

He looked up and saw Archetel handing him back the knife that he dropped. “Here…” he encouraged, giving him the knife.

Oliver grabbed it reluctantly. The doors opened up, and the music was audible all throughout the castle. Archetel swiftly pulled Oliver up into a tight hug, laying his head on his hair. “Don’t think about it… just do it…” he urged. Oliver, trembling, hugged back and almost started sobbing in Archetel’s hug. His lips were quivering, and he had buried his entire face into Archetel’s hug.

There was one thing he could hear besides the loud music though, and that was Archetel’s heartbeats. They were fast, yet steady. It was clear he hurt too, and Oliver had to hurt him even more.

He clenched the knife tightly and raised it up, close to where he was hearing Archetel’s heartbeats.

_Don’t think about it… Don’t think about it…_ Archetel’s words were echoing in his mind. He didn’t know if he even had the force to penetrate through Archetel’s chest…

There was only one way to find out…

One second, his hand and the knife were quivering in unison, and the next, the knife was driven deep into Archetel’s chest. Archetel’s knees buckled, shaking, as he dropped on them. Oliver immediately let go of the hug, as Archetel used his hands to cover his mouth, a hoarse cough escaping his lips.

Oliver dropped down on his knees also, hugging Archetel harshly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” was all he was mumbling, with tears streaming down his face. He had never felt this bad before for hurting someone, and he didn’t understand where this feeling came from. He wanted so bad for it to stop, but Archetel’s shaking constantly reminded him that this was reality; he had achieved his goal.

He looked at the wound the knife had caused. The well-made white shirt was now stained with deep red blood, beginning from the root of the wound. “P-please forgive me… p-please….” Oliver begged, looking hopelessly up at Archetel.

Archetel couldn’t reply. He was coughing up blood in his own hand, and Oliver couldn’t imagine the pain he was going through. Archetel’s hand shakily reached up to the knife, pulling it out of his chest, causing a lot more blood to spill out. He coughed much more, choking on his own blood, and putting his hand up to cover his mouth.

Oliver didn’t know how to react, other than sob. “I-I didn’t want this, I didn’t…” he kept repeating.

Archetel harshly fell forward, holding Oliver. His hands were holding him by the shoulders, his nails digging deep into his skin, even through his shirt. “I’m gonna faint…” he wheezed, trying to hold onto Oliver.

Suddenly, the entire weight of Archetel was falling onto Oliver. Oliver tried resisting, but to no avail; Archetel was way bigger in size than Oliver, there was no way he could lift him up, even if he wanted to. He lay Archetel on his laps gently, not being able to withstand his weight while holding him.

He thought this was it. These were the last moment of Archetel. He had to stand there and watch the life fade from the man whom he’d learned so much about in the span of such little time, and it was all his fault. His last words were so pitiful too, and not nearly enough what Archetel deserved…

However, the silence was cut by a small gargling noise coming from Archetel. His eyes shot open and he immediately got up and turned to the side, the blood collecting in his mouth spilling violently and leaving a giant puddle on the floor, as he coughed up the rest of the blood he was choking on.

Oliver’s heart dropped worse at the sight, and his heart ached. “A-Archetel…” he muttered. Archetel’s hand almost slipped and he fell down, but Oliver was quick to catch him and help him stand upright. It was much easier when Archetel was awake.

He stationed Archetel over to the fence, back straight up. “A-Are you okay…?” he shakily asked, more tears welling in his eyes.

Archetel sleepily looked up at him, his face growing paler and paler due to the blood loss. “… It hurts more than I expected…” Archetel muttered, almost reaching his hand up to press against the wound.

Oliver felt the lump in his throat take all of his breath away, small hics escaping his mouth. He sniffed his nose and hugged Archetel’s legs. He couldn’t do anything else to help, it was all his fault. “I-I’m sorry…. I’m sorry…” he kept muttering.

“Hey…. Look at me…” Archetel requested. Oliver looked up at Archetel, lips quivering and cheeks stained with tears.

Archetel’s eyes were fixated on him. Blood was running down his mouth and he looked dazed, yet the sadness in his eyes never left.

“… You look much different when you cry…” he spoke in a hoarse and quiet voice.

“… I-I can’t help it…” Oliver sobbed, sniffing his nose and wiping his eyes. Archetel drowsily looked up at the night sky.

“The starts are nice, huh…” he slurred, his conscience slowly leaving his body. Oliver looked up, his eyes meeting the same sky Archetel was looking at. It was full of bright stars, ones he never cared to notice before.

“…. Y-Yeah… they are…” Oliver choked, air escaping his lungs.

“…. Is the moon setting…?” Archetel’s voice spoke quietly. Oliver turned to the clock. 12:05. It was still near midnight.

“… No… why do you say that…?” Oliver asked, looking back down at Archetel.

“… Then… why is the sky… so dim…?” he said, his eyes slowly closing. He was struggling to keep them open, just so he could see the stars one final time. Just so he could share the sight with Oliver once and for all.

Oliver felt more tears pouring down his cheeks. “A-Archetel…?” he stuttered, his chest suddenly feeling empty. Archetel looked at Oliver, slowly and weakly, blood still trickling down his chin and onto his clothes.

“… You’re still crying…” Archetel commented. “Come here…” he beckoned. Oliver obliged, bringing his face closer to Archetel, hicking and sobbing.

Archetel held out one arm and gently wiped Oliver’s tear-stained cheeks. “… I don’t like it… when you cry…” he slurred.

A weak shrill escaped Oliver’s lips, in response to both Archetel’s words and touch. His lip was quivering violently, and his entire body was shaking.

He closed his eyes and let Archetel wipe his eyes dry of all tears. “… I knew I wouldn’t mind… If I… died next to you…” he responded, his eyes closing ever so slowly.

Oliver stood in silence. There it was, that feeling, a question he would never be getting an answer to. He continued sobbing, hugging Archetel once again, keeping him close in his final moments. He gently rested his chin on Archetel’s shoulder, craving his comfort. He wanted to know Archetel forgave him, he wanted to erase what had just happened so bad… Archetel’s heartbeat was growing slower, leaving Oliver’s hearing soon enough.

Archetel breathed out one last, shaky sigh. His hands were still gently holding onto Oliver, yet the strength was gone. The heartbeats were gone. Blood continued to pour from Archetel’s mouth.

“…Archetel…?” Oliver asked. Yet the response never came.

“Archetel?!” Oliver screamed, frantically pulling back, wanting any sort of reaction from the man he was hugging.

He was dead. Archetel was dead. No matter how much he wished it were a lie, how much he wished this night were just a nightmare, how much he wished the prince he came to feel so pleasantly for was still alive, no matter how much he wished, it was all in vain.

It was all unfair… Just as he was figuring things out in his mind, he had to have that cursed mission… Just as he was getting prepared to kill his victim, he had to fall for the prince.

He would’ve never gotten an answer from Archetel… They were both peasants though… Orphans, hated by society, in a place where they didn’t fit… Such a vile, spiteful, yet misunderstood and warm human, being killed by the only person who could understand him.

Oliver had completed his goal. His debt was paid but at the cost of what he valued the most.

It was love… he had killed the man he loved. If only it hadn’t taken him so much time to figure this all out, maybe there would be a different ending… One where the man he loved was still alive, one where he wouldn’t be weeping over the corpse of someone he related to.

One where nobody died because of him…

No matter how he sobbed and wept, nobody would hear him. It was just them two alone. The coldness of the night seemed like a chilly breeze in comparison to how cold Archetel was beginning to feel. The music wasn’t loud enough to distract Oliver from what he’d just done.

He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay there, by his side. He wanted Archetel to stay by his side too, yet that was impossible. And it was all Oliver’s fault… That was all his mind was repeating to him. That and the last hour were in Oliver’s mind as if on repeat.

Everything had transpired so fast; Oliver had a hard time registering what exactly happened… He had to go downstairs to finish his mission, he had to leave the castle and go back to his boss… but he wasn’t ready. He wanted to stop time, just so he didn’t have to face any more people… He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

He wanted to stay there, and be close to Archetel… that was all he wanted now.

A masked person made their way up to the balcony, one that belonged to the people Oliver was working for.

“Well, that took you long enough…” he commented. He stared at Oliver weeping and looked around for the blood trail.

“… You’ve done a good job, huh… Stop crying and go back down. A carriage is waiting for you.” He ordered.

When he was in the carriage minutes later, he didn’t even remember the trip from the balcony down to the main hall… All he remembered was Archetel’s last breath next to his ear, the feeling of his cold hands still hugging him, and how pained he sounded when he spoke.

As the carriage rode away, he looked back to the castle. His eyes focused on the clock that chimed when it reached 12 o’clock.

The time showed 12:10.

10 minutes ago, his mission was completed.

His mission to kill a man he came to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this read! It was a breath of fresh air for me, as I've never written something like this before, but I'll probably write much more like this in the future! Onto the next fic!
> 
>  
> 
> -Haos


End file.
